The Intruder
by Guenelyn
Summary: Fiona has an intruder...the ensuing drama.  Rated M for a reason, folks!


A/N: This takes place back in season 4, right after they "meet" Jesse and set him up in the condo next to Fiona's. That's all I'm saying…for now :)

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><p>It had been a hell of a long day, Fiona decided as she watched Jesse enter the condo next to hers and nod back at her before going inside and closing the door. She had to admit, though, that while it had been hard for her, it must have been even harder on Michael. The burned spy helping out the spy he'd inadvertently burned. Ironic really. She had no idea what Michael must be feeling about now, but she was sure it wasn't good.<p>

She was just flipping the lock on the front door of her apartment when she heard it, the telltale swish of fabric against fabric. Most everyone else would have missed the sound entirely, but Fiona Glenanne was not everyone else. A small grin crinkled the corners of her eyes as anticipation of the fight thrummed from the very core of her being. No one intruded on her home turf and walked away from it.

Fiona quickly slipped her hand into the umbrella holder beside the door and grabbed the gun she kept there in case of instances just such as this. By the time she got her hand up and around, however, the intruder was there, capturing her wrist and twisting the gun from her grasp. She countered with a quick, hard jab to the jaw, but just before the hit made contact, a strong hand manacled her wrist and trapped it behind her back. Her right hand was quickly brought around to meet her left and she was jerked forward to meet a hard, warm chest. It was as she was about to head-butt the asshole to kingdom-come that the feel of the arms around her and the scent of the chest she was pressed into finally registered and she pulled back sharply to look up into the face of her intruder.

"Michael? What the hell?"

She barely had time to finish her question before she was crushed into him and his lips covered hers in a bruising kiss.

While violence seemed to be an integral part of their relationship, that didn't mean he had the right to come breaking in here and use his superior muscle to make her submit. Oh, hell no, Fiona Glenanne submitted to no man.

She kissed him back, sliding her tongue along his lips until he let out a moan and his hold began to lessen. A bite to his lip and a knee to the groin allowed her all the leverage she needed to escape his hold.

He grunted in apparent pain, but made no other noise as he stepped towards her once more.

Her head cocked, her eyes narrowed, she took in the site of him there in his cargo pants and t-shirt, ready to spring at her any moment.

"Michael."

He took two steps forward and she lashed out, knowing all too well that she could never win against him when he was in this mood. It was one thing when they were sparring or just playing around. Most of the time he let her win and she knew it. But there was an unmistakable aura of determination around him tonight and she was damned if she wasn't the tiniest bit afraid of him.

She managed to get another kick in, this one to his chest, before he grabbed her arms again and twisted her back to his front. They were a few steps from her bedroom door at this point and any idiot could see where this was headed, and the inevitable outcome both thrilled and frightened Fiona to her core.

A foot to his instep gained her the distraction she needed to be able to twirl out of his grasp and across the bedroom, though not without losing her shirt to his grasping hands.

She gasped in indignation and spun to glare at him.

Their eyes met across the bed and she knew this would be over soon, knew that she could simply end it by letting him win. Letting them both win, really, since she wanted it just as much as he did. Her damp panties could attest to that just as well as her now bare nipples poking out proudly at him could. But she couldn't make herself submit this time, couldn't force herself to admit defeat and let him think he'd won.

"Michael, what are you doing?" She asked as the covered herself with her crossed arms.

"C'mere, Fi."

His voice was a husky whisper, barely reaching her from across the room.

"What do you want?" She demanded.

He simply stared at her, daring her to ask the question again, daring her to defy him. So she did.

She was half a step from the connecting bathroom—the one with the lock on the door and the window through which she could fit but he could not—when he was on her again. This time he gave no mercy as he grabbed her and tossed her into the middle of the bed, coming down quickly on top of her.

"Michael…"

She was trembling with what was either adrenaline or need, or perhaps a heady mixture of both, as one of his hands came up to cup the side of her face.

"Fi."

She bit her lip to keep from moaning at the feel of him pressed down on top of her, their bodies touching in all the right places, his warm hand making her cheek tingle.

"You're shaking," he remarked, tracing his hand down the column of her throat to rest in the hollow there. He must have mistaken her trembling and wide eyes for some other emotion for the next words out of his mouth stunned her. "You know I'd never hurt you, right? Not for anything."

Her lips parted as her breath left her. He'd truly thought she was afraid of him? Well, in all fairness, she might have been….for a second or two. But, really…

"I know I'd never let you," she said with a flippant smile.

Apparently flippant wasn't what he was going for because his face remained stoic, his eyes hard and soft at the same time and boring into hers.

"Fi," he whispered.

She forced herself to sober as his voice sent chills down her spine.

"Of course I know, Michael."

His hand caressed her throat lovingly as his eyes caressed her face.

"Why did you come back, Michael?"

He was silent for several moments as his hand ghosted down her side, then back up to cup one breast softly.

"I…"

She remained quiet and waited for him to continue as his hand elicited more delightful shivers from her body. When his lips touched her throat, a soft moan escaped, and her hands found their way under his shirt to clutch at the warm skin of his bare back.

He pulled his head back far enough to look into her eyes.

"I needed to know that you're mine, Fiona."

She froze as his words reached her through the haze of her growing passion.

"What?"

If anything, his gaze became more focused, more determined.

"I needed to know that you're still mine."

She could feel her face forming an automatic sneer as her hackles rose at the implications of his statement.

"Are you implying that you own me? That I belong to you? Because I'll tell you right here and now, Michael Weston, I belong to no one."

She tried to push him off of her, but he used his greater weight and strength to his advantage and pinned her hands above her head.

"We both know that's not what I'm saying," he growled.

"Well, then what…"

She could see the color rising in his cheeks and his jaw flexing with the effort it took not to yell at her.

"Would you rather I was…someone else, lying here on top of you? Someone younger, perhaps? The attractive young spy next door, maybe?"

She almost laughed then, because truly, she might flirt and she might ogle, but how could he possibly think she could even consider Jesse when she had the man currently seething with anger on top of her.

"Are you…you're jealous," she stated incredulously.

"Fiona," he growled.

"No, you are. Michael, how could you seriously think…"

She didn't have a chance to finish her question before his mouth was once again covering hers. This time she didn't fight it, didn't bite him. This time when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she hummed her pleasure against his lips. Then she ran her hands up his back and tugged his shirt from his pants, losing contact with his mouth only long enough to pull the shirt over his head. They both sighed at the first feel of skin to skin contact.

"Tell me, Fiona. Tell me you're mine."

She ignored his demand in favor of more pleasurable pastimes, mainly pushing his pants down over his hips as quickly as she could.

"Fi," he groaned when she finally had him in her hand.

"Yes, Michael?"

He growled before he gripped the waistband of her pants. "You're overdressed."

Her pants joined his on the floor and he sat back far enough to stare down at her naked beneath him.

"You're beautiful," he breathed.

So was he, but she knew better than to tell him that. The few times she'd said it, he'd glared at her for days afterwards.

"And you're mine."

She didn't contradict him this time, but simply smiled up at him before pulling him down for another kiss.

Their moans mingled into one as his talented fingers found her moist center.

"Mine, Fiona. You're mine."

His finger pierced her and she hummed an agreement.

"Tell me, Fi."

She would have, but she was too busy gasping for air as he found her clit and brushed against it once, twice. She was moaning and writhing beneath him by the time he pulled his hand back and replaced it with the tip of his hard length.

He pried her hands from where they'd been gouging his back and intertwined their fingers, placing their hands on either side of her head. Leaning down, he nibbled her ear.

"Please, Michael."

"Say it, Fi. I need to hear you say it."

"I'm…"

He rocked against her so that just the tip of him entered her.

"C'mon, Fi. Tell me."

She moaned as he slid into her just the slightest bit more.

"Mmmm, I know you can do it, Fiona. Just say the words."

"I…"

She cried out as he entered her in one strong thrust. The feel of him there, stretching her, touching her like no man ever had before. God, it was like she could feel him all the way to her womb. It was like being connected to him, not just physically, but spiritually, and emotionally, and every other way possible. It had never been like this with anyone else, and she doubted it ever would be. She trembled beneath him as her body clutched and rippled around his.

"Michael," she gasped.

"What, Fi?"

He rocked against her, gently at first, then picking up speed and force until she was writhing from the overwhelming pleasure of it.

"Michael, I…"

"Yeah, Fi."

He reached between them and touched her just where she needed him to and she flew over the edge chanting his name like a benediction.

His own release came not long after hers and he collapsed on top of her before quickly rolling to his side and pulling her across his chest.

They were silent for several long moments as they caught their breath and the trembling subsided leaving Fi sated and tired.

"Michael?" She said softly into the growing darkness.

"Yeah, Fi?"

"I've always been yours. Ever since that night in Belfast. I've never really stopped being yours."

He squeezed her tightly against him before he relaxed and began stroking her hair.

"You mean you don't want to replace me with a newer model?"

She tapped her fingers against his chest as though thinking. "Well…"

She yelped at the well-aimed swat to her bare behind.

"You better be kidding."

She raised her head far enough to see his eyes in the darkness.

"I think you're all I can handle, Michael Weston."

He watched her a moment before placing a kiss on her forehead.

She settled back down to stroke his chest.

"Fi?"

"Yes, Michael."

"I'm sorry if I scared you earlier."

She laughed in spite of herself. "It'd take a far better man than you to scare me, Michael."

Her laughter turned into a shriek and then a moan as he flipped her onto her back and started all over again.

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><p>AN: I'm sure we'd all love to see an overtly possessive side of Michael, though I fear fanfiction is the closest we'll ever come… Let me know what you thought!


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